


Say You, Say Me

by stylinourry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, One Shot, POV Male Character, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, community: otp_100
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinourry/pseuds/stylinourry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's conscious cried. It was simply unfair. If one stared hard enough, they would have seen everything.</p><p>This is a story in which the boys narrate their jailed lives and the closeted relationships that torture them, all for the price of fame.</p><p>There were two homosexual pairs in one boy band. Who the hell could believe that, anyway?</p><p>
  <span class="small">~Based on real events, but with fictional dialogue~</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sublime

**Author's Note:**

> \- Centered on Ziam Mayne/Larry Stylinson.
> 
> This fic is currently unbeta-ed, so there's bound to be grammatical/technical/syntax errors (which is me being an incompetent writer). I'm so sorry in advance!

**2012**

Zayn was aware that there had been an injunction, but management held their own unanimous plans for the boys. 

It was now December, and One Direction had grown worse at practicing discretion on their 'affections'; the endless influx of people beginning to suspect certain things refused to die down. 

This was coupled with psychological rebellion that smarter fans were quickly picking up on (Harry and Louis' corresponding - not to mention hilariously obvious - tattoos had their PR team screaming), and therefore management met a big sinkhole that they found was really hard not to play victim to. 

The hype surrounding Larry Stylinson continued to draw out a widespread skirmish, but their planned Harry and Taylor Swift arrangement seemed to be working, to Louis' utter animosity; most of the fandom's naive minds convinced them into believing they were in a relationship, and the "Haylor" trap caught heaps of these girls like fish.

Yet the infamous Larry fandom persisted. They weren't quite moved to lose their faith in Louis and Harry, and Zayn was impressed with their ability to distinguish inconsistencies from truths. Unfortunately for management, the sky-high possibility of Haylor being fake spilled itself into the crevices of some controversial media outlets, and because Harry's horrendous attempts at making these fake arrangements appear at least REAL weren't as obscure as they wanted either (bless his soul), management needed something to be done immediately.

Harry broke down the other day in private, poring over Louis and telling him that he 'couldn't do it anymore'. "Those bastards want me to go to New York, meet Taylor and abandon you on New Year's Eve! I won't let them! I don't WANT to kiss her and they fucking know it but they still force me to! What more do they need from me?! I already went with her to a stupid ski trip that WE fucking did first in Utah and now I just c-can't keep up-" 

Zayn's anger was undeniable, simmering into a silent hate; Niall and Liam's strong bitterness with the absurd scheme didn't go unnoticed.

But to management (he prayed he was allowed to sock them all in the balls just this once) the said scheme was necessary.

And what was worse?

The dreadful anticipation.

Louis knew - they all knew - that a midnight kiss was imminent. They were given two standpoints: be with their respective beards or prepare to break up. 

And Louis' unsurprising definite choice was to not allow the second option. 

Regarding boundaries, Zayn felt like a genuine intruder when he walked in on the twenty year-old caressing Harry's face soon afterwards, whispering sweet nothings and hushing his broken, muffled cries as he enveloped Louis within a tight embrace; Zayn suddenly wished he was anywhere but there.

"N-no I d-don't wanna-"

"I'm never going to leave you, baby...enough now...don't ruin your beautiful face with tears, love..."

Harry clung to Louis' sweater-clad arms, peering down at him beneath sodden eyelashes, and sniffled. 

"My face is f-fine-"

"It's wet, Haz. Red and wet." 

"W-With a red nose like Rudolph...and you always say I'm your Rudolph."

"Because you are!" Louis laughed, pecking his damp nose; Harry instantly grinned, all previous traces of despair looking as if they had disappeared into thin air, replaced by the brightest aura Zayn had ever felt. 

He could see nothing but sheer fondness swimming behind Louis' blue eyes, and Zayn backed out of the room amidst their exchange of 'I love you's," head slightly reeling from the reminder time and time again.

He couldn't stop being repetitively amazed with their unique dynamic.

Louis and Harry were fitting conjunctions of each other...like matching puzzle pieces, or even lumps of oil and water that swirled harmoniously inside a lava lamp together, and Zayn can never 100% understand how they behave as existing halves of a whole - a yin and yang.

How they worked as a single entity.

They complete each other. 

When the two were alone, Zayn kept a safe distance away from them. He thought that violating their privacy while it brimmed with immense - often puke-inducing - adoration was an offence in itself to their relationship; besides, why would you feel compelled to cause a disturbance among situations such as theirs?

Call it his philosophical mantra, but he, unlike Liam, was also protective of their relationship yet never took to orally defending them despite how selfish it seemed. 

He personally believed that keeping quiet would reap an important benefit - peace - on both sides, and although it was clear he hated one certain side Zayn was devoutly upholding the wordless expression of his protectiveness: body language, warning touches...the works, hoping people could identify the clear messages behind them, and Zayn also knew his method did not always promise a full guarantee.

However, a particular event happened during a radio interview in which Harry accompanied him.

"Is there anyone in the band hiding their homosexuality?"

The question...the 'Homo' conjunction...was a resonating alarm bell in Zayn's mind - as loud as police sirens - and he shriveled up within under the tense moment, anxiety taking over him.

He tried to quell the slight anger he felt towards the interviewer for asking such an obvious thing that they couldn't at all disclose an answer to, but Zayn thought about giving them a response that was somewhat ambiguous enough for outsiders to more or less accept.

The bright side to this, Zayn knew, was the positive outcome. Their intelligent fans would eventually decode his true answer. After all, actions were always louder than words.

He felt his eyes stray on its own accord towards a space in the distance beside the interviewer, and although Harry's silent, frozen frame was noticeable, Zayn's lips formed a faint, yet audible, "No...no," head shaking from side to side and implying an otherwise opposite answer compared to what naive people expected. A paradox.

And then Zayn's conscious cried. It was simply unfair. This stupid interview was unfair. To the radio crew, his brown eyes were indifferent, but if one stared, hard, into them - into the deep mystery of One Direction's existence, they would have seen everything.

Including his own homosexuality.

~~

"If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live, Zayn?"

It sounded innocent, really, when Zayn replied eight months ago.

"Right next to you, Liam."

Zayn couldn't recall if Liam's undecipherable look he gave him after that was a trick of the fluorescent lighting overhead, but Louis, thankfully, swooped in to save his otherwise screwed ass. 

Why did he say it, exactly? Of course his instinct-ridden mind was almost a replica of Harry's bottomless love for the spontaneous, brash Louis (for Liam, in his case), but he honestly thought he had the upper hand on his impulses.

Guess he was wrong this time.

And the implication of a possible impossibility that could happen aroused Zayn's excitement more than usual.

~~

**March 2013**

His premonition was short-lived.

Danielle Peazer was parading her semi-wild tangle of a head around Manchester square. This annoyed Zayn to the very bone despite his persistent, dumb reassurance to himself that he had nothing against her.

He really didn't. Right?

Except a pull from within his lower torso at the sour sight of Liam holding her hand (rather halfheartedly, he mused) challenged the thought. 

Zayn tried to shove away the magnanimous clouds shrouding his head with a brief smoke, his skinny fingers brushing the pocketed box of cigarettes ever so slightly, but he was sucked right back into its addictive vortex when Liam glanced at him for one agonizing second, guarded eyes locking onto Zayn's own scrutiny; he averted his gaze in an instant as Danielle pressed an exaggeratingly awful, torque kiss to his cheek.

Zayn's chest felt heavy once again - like lead metal submerged in a floating culture of acid - and he looked away, walking in what he hoped was an indifferent manner in the opposite direction of the smitten couple.

Everything was phenomenal shite. 

Shitted shite that had been shitted on.

And Zayn held back from the dominant urge to wrench his grip out of Perrie's tiny hand as he too paraded down the sidewalks with his 'little precious mix', bordered by Manchester's quaint little boutiques that were too damn pricey for his family to afford.

"I hope you don't mind if I..."

Perrie didn't need to wait for Zayn's brooding answer, and she scurried inside the Antique La Boite, black ruffled skirt bouncing. 

He sighed in resignation, rubbing the side of his aching temple with a sweaty palm, but he kept his blank mask active, clusters of paps surrounding the shop and snapping greedily at the scene. The piercing white rays of light flashed unforgivably; Zayn wanted to go home and escape the horror.

"Is your girlfriend Perrie Edwards with you?"

"Yeah."

"Is she shopping?"

"I guess."

"Where?"

Zayn nodded mutely towards the boutique, annoyed as fuck at the horde of insects who twist his empty one-word answers into something delightful, sell-able, productive, striking. Papers of their "Manchester's Day Out" would hit the stands while female denominations worldwide snatch them off the market, completely unawares that what they're holding in their unsoiled, pretty hands is a bundle of filth.

Lies.

A couple more worn down journalists followed Zayn, who was waiting impatiently for Perrie to emerge, all sickeningly sweet smiles and false bravado; she lugs a pink bag along, and off they go to other chapter of an endless, torturous cycle meant to murder Zayn's sanity within a short amount of time - time that was slipping between his grasp too fast. 

They scuttle along the merciless pavement frost, and Danielle bumps into them in a delayed way that reminds Zayn of a disappointing lost puppy impersonation he once spotted on television with Liam, and Liam's rumbling laugh at the adorable golden labrador pups was liquid honey drenched in thermal particles that pulsated: alive, inviting and lovely...

Allahu fucking akbar.

The girlfriends' gleaming lips meet in a fabricated air-kiss, and Zayn walks past the pitifully manipulative excuse of a dancer, tugging Perrie's arm with unnecessary force.

He stares at her, unabashed and frustrated beyond control yet attempting to be sincere, and he grimaces, jaw set, says, "Can we go?"

"But Dan-Dan's-"

Zayn releases Perrie's arm in the bat of an eyelid when he catches Liam rushing in their direction as he outruns the next wave of paparazzi employed to document the boys of One Direction's "saccharine girlfriend get together", and Zayn inwardly snarls out an obscenity.

Liam greets Zayn with his normal, warm smile, and Zayn's coiled mood seems to dissipate and evaporate easily in his presence.

His heart lurches involuntarily in the confines of his chest, blood rushing to the flaccid tips of his ears.

"Hey Zayn!" Liam touches his arm, and Zayn is not on fire per se, however he feels as if a simmering hot river of lava has opened up a network inside him, flowing, subdued, through his veins.

And Zayn proper hates himself for feeling giddy all over again, as giddy as the very first day he laid eyes on Liam, when he damn _hates_ this day.

Zayn smiles back, hoping he appears more glad than rueful. 

"Li," he whispers, and the L rolls upon his tongue, reveling in his name. 

"How're you...you know...holding up?" Liam asks him, tender, and mind reading wasn't at all needed in figuring it out.

Zayn grimaced playfully, gesturing towards the giggly pair, but a strong ache engulfed his guts. 

_Idiot has no damn clue._

"S'fine love, you?"

And if Zayn wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn Liam's throat constricted with a swallow, and he tilted his chin a tad, watching Liam's prominent jawline reflect the cold sun.

Liam chuckled unnervingly, a deep alto hum, and he leaned closer to Zayn's earlobe.

Zayn was idyllic, and regardless of the distance he managed to keep between them for public purposes, Liam's fingertips grazed the nape of his neck as he whispered; Zayn's thick eyelashes fluttered, stare on the ground.

"Danielle...you know she's not you. Remember that."

And of course Zayn does.

He sneaks in kisses after dragging Liam inside an empty men's loo, safely obscure from prying eyes.

For once, in a long time, it seemed like the perfect day Zayn has never had.

~~

Niall glided into the empty hotel room after his twelve-hour nap, snowy blonde hair styled into a half-assed quiff, and he knew he had nothing better else to do so long as Liam and the others had yet to return from their PR shenanigans; he plopped onto the armchair by the makeshift fire, propping his socked feet up on the leather footrest.

Ah, how he adored break days.

Harry and Louis were out enjoying each other's company of course, and god forbid that management discover they had travelled somewhere by themselves without Niall.

Truth be told, Niall was, sort of and kind of, Harry and Louis' specialized pogo stick. Modest expect him to behave like a bouncer who tones the subtlety of things up a notch when around his best friends and act like a mediator who understands the grueling setbacks the band could potentially be thrown in if people _do_ catch 'em. 

Niall was legitimately convinced that Modest was gettin' space-high with crack meth somehow. People already _have_ caught on. Harry and Louis weren't exactly the fitting definition of subtlety, and pretty much every other scheme management placed in water only worked to backfire on them. 

Haha. Yes. Niall thought Modest was a dumb lot of bigots. Didn't everyone agree? As for Zayn and Liam, he had a profound realization of foreshadowing. 

Something was bound to occur between them. He just couldn't answer the when, how, and why.

Allowing fragmented wisps of pensive thoughts to float inside his mind, Niall took his phone, bored senseless, and alongside nothing remotely good on the flat-screen television set in front of him, tweeting never failed to be his best friend during times like this.

Obviously, Niall was aware the smart fans had construed which tweet was him and which tweet was Modest's, but Niall often had the most power over his account. The swear words should have given him away a long time ago. Duh.

His thumbs flew distractedly over the screen, typing whatever he wanted and Modest be damned.

**" Yeee Manchester! Great to be stayin here while the lads are out! shit be trippin."**

Niall laughed pretentiously to himself. 

_Shit be trippin._

_While the lads are out!_

He loved filtering double meanings into his tweets, secretly praying people were keen enough to connect the dots. Dually afraid and amused at what he might see when he checks his overflowing feed of notifications, Niall feels the latter reaction.

**@NiallOfficial WHAT ASKJOMG WHAT SHIT IS TRIPPIN???"**

**@NiallOfficial @1dneews the lads are out and shit be trippin wattehfuck**

**@NiallOfficial it meaNS HE HAS TO TAKE A SHIT YOU DUMB FUCKS right niall am i right**

**@NiallOfficial manchestermanchestermanchester**

**@NiallOfficial I GET U TOTES GET YOU *lion with a beard* OH wat who said that**

Niall quirked an eyebrow, chuckling at @idmarryyouharry's reference to Liam's cheeky as hell implication, and figuring that her username represented what Niall very clearly suspected he pressed the green retweet icon, screen lighting up again, and he snickered, enthusiastic. Niall knew he was in deep trouble: he breached Modest's strict warning to stay away from homosexually-inclined tweets. Yet still...who the hell cared?

Larry shippers were gon' have an amazing field day. Well, technically it was his turn to do them a favour.

~~

"NIALL! WHAT THE FUCK!"

Whoops.

He forgot the lovebirds themselves.

Opening a bleary eye at Louis, Niall shifted on the armchair. He must have fallen asleep after eating a strawberry cheesecake custard room service had brought him minutes ago, but he had no recollection of the time.

"Wha'?"

"Oh you damn know what I'm talking about, arse!" Louis firmly pulled him onto his feet, thin lips pursed into an anxious line as Harry came up behind him, resting a consoling chin on Louis' shoulder. Niall shrunk back, intimidated in the presence of an angry Tomlinson, his blue eyes growing coal dark and a little hostile.

The retweet wasn't too revealing in his opinion!

"Lou don't-"

"I can, Harry! Stay out of this." Harry sent Niall a soft smile, and he shrugged, nonchalant, in reply. He would be fine; they were used to this routine. 

"Why did you do that?!" Louis asked, hand pulling agitatedly at his messy hair, and Harry massaged Louis' tense, taut arms.

The bleach-blonde tutted, quite uneasy, but he very well knew that he had a bollock of explaining to do in front of them big Armani-suited bosses.


	2. Incongruous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy. :) I decided on the format of my story - the chapters will be short and will come gradually, which means there's going to be MANY chapters for this. I apologize if you find that pretty tedious to wait for! The little lyric piece in here is from 'Brand New Shoes' by She & Him: a fitting song I figured was both great and sad hehe.

**September 2012**

Zayn remembers that day with a jagged clarity. Rough around the edges and blurred lines between reality and himself.

They made it sound inexplicable...easy, even.

Like it was a non-trivial task Zayn would fall into pattern with, natural and unadulterated.

 _But fuck_. Of course not.

It wasn't, and never would be, easy.

He would never come around to acknowledging her. And Modest held this ridiculous false notion that he eventually will. More often than not, they were wrong. Again. Her very face repulsed Zayn metaphorically and literally as well as her arrogance at her supposed "independent success".

She returned in the form of a bold entity, whisked and suited to uphold Modest's prejudiced standards: demanding, cunning, sneering, fork-tongued, foul-mouthed Danielle.

As society's personified idea of the "perfect" girlfriend, dark hazel eyes, golden fuschia skin and a sculpted dancer's body intermingled with external innocence - which was just laughable - excited the bigots who were eager to set the deceitful game off on a dramatic note.

Zayn'd failed to find in himself the desire to tolerate her.

But he was able to, at least, tolerate Eleanor.

She was polite and flowery and shy and fresh and the quiet wallflower when party events or public appearances didn't require her presence. She had no hidden agenda - as far as Zayn was concerned - and if Louis managed to build up good terms with Eleanor despite the misunderstood animosity between her and Harry then Zayn was also more than capable of fulfilling the same obligation.

You'd think, in an alternate universe, Zayn and Danielle had hit it off, but it's when he can't stand seeing her that people are reminded of his real-time stance on the entire fiasco and his stance towards her as a notorious human being.

She stormed into Modest's offices that day, a distraught Liam trailing behind her. He yelled and growled and chastised, saying it was "fucking enough!", but Danielle was determined, blind, and ignorant to the consequences. All she saw was red-hot jealousy and blazes of hate and contempt and her need to seize her place back in the One Direction fandom and her need to gain more thirsty fame, more recognition, more, more, more; she acted compulsive and inherent and Zayn lost it completely when Liam told him, sobbing like no hope was left, holding him close. 

Danielle threatened the Armani-suited bosses with blackmail and cheated them into giving her what she wanted: a higher paycheck, a side salary, a higher guarantee of fame as Liam Payne's beard. _Ziam is real_ , she snarled, faultless brown eyes soon baring her true interior ugliness - _Zayn and Liam are also in a homosexual relationship and I swear I'll tell the whole world they LOVE it up the asshole if you don't take me back!! I'm ready to do it right here, right now and there's no way out of this!!_

Management took it like a sword down the throat, freaking out and eliciting damage control and commanding the PR team to clean up - publish and plant as many relevant articles of Zerrie and Payzer as you can - and dive into Danielle's demands as quickly as you can; Payzer's first appearance together as a "reconciled couple" was final, scheduled for the fifth of October.

"This whole lying scheme is fucking unfair! We've seen how you kept our own best friends Louis and Harry inside a cage and we _refuse_ to be another one of your play pieces, Richard!" Liam clenches his fists, angry and upset and quelling his inner hatred at Modest - who treat them gay members as if they're some problem to fix, but they're not, and he hates the multi-billion dollar corporation so much, more than he's ever had, hates Modest with a roaring passion. These narrow-minded bosses are stuck inside a prejudiced 19th century state of mind and Liam wishes he could cut to the chase, shove them away and will them to stop ruining their lives albeit the losses they may face. This horrific kind of injustice isn't at all worth succumbing to.

Zayn grips Liam's hand: a safety net, a converging point for his sanity, and he will never forget the way Modest's eyes drift towards their interlocked fingers, slight disgust and confusion clouding their gazes. The small, solaced gesture is a testament to their relationship, a firm statement. _You can't tear us apart._

"You'll lose legions of fans. You naive boys don't understand. Crash and burn. The band may fail! They don't want to be fans of homosexuals."

Richard's icy phrase is a jackhammer and breaks Liam's resolve; he lunges at him, swinging his right arm and aiming to hit, and Zayn cries, struggling to hold Liam's toned frame back, skinny, gangly arms bracketing his torso. Pitifully lucid and painful shouts are exchanged among the group: the boy band versus the evil Management from the depths of hell, and Liam's strong, beautiful face is just wrecked - a mixture of extreme animosity and hostility and despair. Tear tracks are visible upon Liam's inflamed cheeks, and Zayn's own tears continue to fall freely, silently, without end. Zayn feels like someone had taken a hold of his world and ripped it, tore his wonderful world apart; his chest is choking him and constricting, tighter and tighter. "It's okay, Li-" "IT'S NOT and you know it, Z!" He tries to breath, but faint whimpers escaping his lips are what he hears.

Zayn feels like he's drowning...as he sinks deeper and deeper to the bottom of an unforgiving ocean.

Then Richard's cold tone - like he really couldn't give two shits - washes over Zayn and Liam again; what he sputters slams repeatedly into their skulls, and Zayn thought, for a split millisecond, that he was actually able to _murder_ him, murder the damn bigot sitting in the steel chair who was on his pedestal of maleficence, squishing his clients like bugs, picking up the dirty rich pieces and discarding the parts he didn't need. 

They were slaves, trapped by an evil syndicate. _A wicked crime syndicate from_ The Godfather _or something_ , Zayn thinks.

"You are going to date Danielle Peazer and that's that, Mr. Payne." 

"I DON'T-"

"Escort them out, Heffler. We'll talk tomorrow once you both revert to a rational state of mind." 

The two are pushed, roughly, towards the metal doors flanked with glass pillars. Zayn never breaks his hold on Liam's trembling fist.

And when Danielle squeezes past them on her way back inside the office Liam purposely knocks a stiff shoulder against her...hard. She blanches, watching him draw Zayn in closer to his side. 

What the witch couldn't see, Zayn notes bitterly, were the dried reflections of tears upon their torn faces. 

~~

_"When it comes down to this_  
_I'm neither sorry, nor cross, nor I'm fit_  
_And I'm running away, there's smoke on my sweater_

_It's just like you told me it'd be_  
_It's nothing, nothing, nothing_  
_Nothing at all."_


	3. Transcendent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you so much for dropping by, leaving kudos and writing comments! Sorry for the wait!! Two years later and here it is! :)
> 
> Song blurb in this chapter: 'Me and You' by She & Him.

**Back to: March 2013**

Niall is sitting on the Oxford mattress of his hotel room, whisked into it by a begrudgingly serious Harry who already knew what Louis would say before Niall even figured it out himself. 

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry whispers to him, contriteness coating his tone before he leaves to talk with Louis regarding the Twitter boil-over of manic proportions. "You know how Lou gets when he's anxious. And he also gets more angsty than a Mexican bull."

Niall doesn't understand. _Of course_ he's aware of Louis' mental state and the way his mind worked, confronting risky situations like they were faulty wires and disassembling each one piece by frustrating piece.

He nods reassuringly at his best friend, sends him a smile that holds a loyal promise, unspoken.

"I'll be fine, Haz!"

He'll be fine. He's always been a radiant spunk who tried not to dwell on dark clouds for too long.

The door is ajar; Niall thinks Harry had left it that way on purpose.

"Babe...it's not Ni's fault-" Harry's earnesty never fails to amaze Horan. And Niall had always concluded that Harry's pure soul was what balanced this band's bearings. He constantly saw the silver lining, distinguished the unlikely from the likely with an open mind; he was more aware than Payne.

Niall hears a vague shuffle, and when Louis spoke it sounded as if he had pressed his face into the crook of Harry's neck, words muffled yet coming out in a choppy and frenzied manner, Harry's large hands massaging Louis' tensed backside.

"I _know_ , it's just - jesus, Hazza, some days I ask myself if I can still go on any longer with this shitty escapade," Tomlinson sighs, dejected, resigned, pressing his lips to the younger boy's collarbone, and Harry's chest is tight and taut at the broken expression on Louis' beautiful face; it's as if he was holding back a fresh wave of anguished tears, water coating Louis' sky-blue eyes. He looked so tired. Fed up. Absolutely done. And the dark unforgivable circles under Louis' eyes were a ghastly reminder of _everything_.

Harry's monolithical heart ached to the utmost scale. He wished he could do more for him. He wished he really could. But he was no superhero. Emotional challenges such as this repeatedly tested the band's goodwill, stretching it like an elastic until it split right down the middle. If it was even possible to end what was between Harry and Louis, he would have, just to spare the older boy's tattered soul. Yet of course they both knew how _ridiculous_ the very notion was. They had conversed about it more than a few times - already have overlooked all cons of famous band life that would be in place should their relationship enter the forefront of society's mind - two years ago.

To both of them, breaking up was sheer weakness and complacency and giving in: a sign that they did not trust, did not rely on the band and each other and the fans for strength, and that Modest and society won over them. They have _never_ allowed such a thing to occur, and never will.

If you really were in love with another, you would _fight_. You would do everything you could to protect this love against the odds, which was born through large meticulous amounts of time and effort and care. Cheesiness aside, love wasn't selfish or impatient. Harry himself knew. And Harry and Louis' love was just that: an endless push towards the light of the long, gaping tunnel, spanning miles. If they had endured for two seemingly hopeless years, they were strong enough to go on for another year, and another, and another - as long as it would take to inch closer to justice. Freedom. It was worth draining themselves for, up to the last drop.

Harry thought of their relationship as a wound: a stubborn, hard scab upon flesh that fingers could never manage to peel off completely, no matter how much force is used. The scab would form again, above the previous one that has been removed, and the cycle repeats.

The scar, though, would remain there for the rest of your life. It would be a testament to pure strength.

(To be honest, a scab sounded gross. But still.)

"Lou, look at me," Harry murmurs lovingly, optimistic as always, pulling Louis' head from his shoulder and wiping away the salt tears upon Louis' olive cheeks with both thumbs, catching them on his skin like fishnets. Harry and Louis alternated between the role of comforter. It was whole and precious and natural to do so in the midst of all of this.

Louis looks at him, and Harry is hit by the sparkling youth on his face, the glow from his tears lighting up what was otherwise constantly hidden underneath the deceit and the lies and the tough, unbreakable mask of superiority and responsibility that Louis wore, tossed to him since One Direction's conception and their fast ride to fame. Louis was old, so strong and confident and logical and spontaneous, yet so fragile, so _young_ , just like him, and Harry feels more protective, more determined than he has ever been.

Louis is the one who hugs Harry, his short sweater-clad arms winding around the younger lad's waist, and the top of his head brushes Harry's newly shaved chin, gaze upwards and pained and confused. Harry can see the usual struggle of wills behind Louis' stare: whether he should jump ship or stay on the extremely choppy deck, but Harry knows him like the smooth back of his hand. Louis never jumped ship. Not once for the two years they've been together, even. He was always the first to put up with Modest's games and bearding fodder, the first to show the fans who are _right_ about HarryLouis and ZaynLiam (or either, or both) his heartfelt appreciation for their support, the first to put his foot _down_ when their management stepped fuckloads too far, the first to hint about the truths One Direction hide that are slammed back into the closet by force.

"Babe, we'll survive. We've been doing it for two years, and we have the boys. We have the fans. We have our family. Don't forget that," Harry murmurs, and Louis' brief uncertainty disappears from his eyes.

"I know, love." Louis stands on his tiptoes and kisses him, lips trailing along Harry's jaw, and his kisses radiate gratitude, trust, _'Thank god you exist. Thank god we're here.'_ Harry sighs, completely enamored, at the burning sensations scalded on his skin, left behind by Louis' sweet and sensuous touches, his firm, gentle suckles driving Harry _insane_ , and this is going to lead into Eros playland if they don't stop-

"Lou, bro!"

Louis snaps off Harry's neck to face Niall, their bubble of privacy intervened, and the Irishman flinched, suddenly acting like he didn't know where to look.

" _Oh_ , I mean, god, sorry?"

Louis laughs instead, and Harry joins him, their giggles a fond chorus that Niall loosens up to. "Admit it, you wanted to see-" " _No_ ," Niall swats, nose scrunched ("You're fucking sick, Harry,"), and the sight of them hitting one another - like little boys who fought over candy - might have reduced the calmest One Direction fan into a crying mess.

"I'm sorry, Nialler," Louis pleads, sincere apologies written in his blue eyes as soon as the craziness dies down, and he extends both arms towards the blonde, who pulls Louis against his chest first with a roar. "S'fine, Lou," he gushes, all bright smiles, and _really_ , Niall didn't need an apology - he often gobbled them up and tossed them away, forever forgotten. It wasn't that Niall was insensitive (quite the opposite): he only held onto problems that would give the bigger picture actual damage, not ones that were temporary, petty.

Harry drags them both into one large group hug. "Goobers," Louis sighed, ducking beneath Harry's built forearms to grab his phone. Snatching it up, he could sense Harry and Niall watching him warily, observant of what Louis may see on his twitter feed due to Niall's four-second impulsive mistake.

Niall's timid, raw tone washes down the momentary silence. "I'm still so sorry, Louis. Didn't know what I was thinking. I-"

Louis looks up, his face pinched, just so that Harry rushes to his side and peers at the phone screen, green eyes alert.

"Babe..."

Niall walks over, hesitant, cautious springs in his steps, and Louis wordlessly shows him The Daily Mail article, published half an hour ago, his lips twisted into a sardonic grimace.

"Fucking PR repair. It worries me so much because what if the dicks push something like that?"

"They won't, Lou-"

"What if they _do_?"

Louis is still bitter, his characteristic brashness hurting both Harry and Niall. They could feel his despair. Louis always channelled his pain through words that tumbled out of his mouth on their own accord, and whether he meant them or not depended on the context. In this case, Louis' internal frustration was building towards a furious climax; Harry rubbed Louis' neck tenderly to dispel the returning anger, but his own dejection showed.

Niall skims the trash article again.

**EXCLUSIVE - Eleanor Calder: Engaged to One Direction's Louis Tomlinson!**

_It's official...Louis is currently off the market, as the lovely couple was spotted fluttering about London's high-end jewellers square in search of what seemed to be an engagement ring this past Tuesday. A source reports: "Louis is absolutely smitten with Eleanor. Since they've started dating in 2011, he already held the possibility of marriage at bay, but now Louis is confident they are ready despite the boy band's gruelling schedule. Eleanor has stuck by his side as an anchor. Even when they were on opposite sides of the world, Louis said the 22-year old university student was his compass. She was the someone he came home to."_

_This, then, gives us the true meaning behind Tomlinson's compass tattoo, which he had obtained recently._

_In short, One Direction fans may not have expected this particular prospect to come to fruition so soon, but if Louis is prepared, "it is common courtesy to get the most out of this exciting news," Tomlinson's mother Jay mentioned in a twitter statement Thursday, whose tweet currently numbers 64K RTs and 97K favourites._

Beneath the paragraphs, vivid, papped pictures of an emotionally devoid Louis, hand in hand with a neutral Eleanor, are posted, and even the most oblivious idiot could spot everything that was incongruously wrong in the staged photos. Below them, the caption read: 

**True Love** \- _Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder walk along, looking for the gem that will change their lives forever._

Niall stops before going any further, his snorts loud and obnoxious. "Man, this is fucked up and weird and, like, badly written. Compass? Shitheads are using your tattoos now, aren't they? And it looks like they stole info off your Larry supporters. Such pussies."

Louis rubs his temples in agitation, creases of disdain lining his forehead, and Niall feels as much disgust as him. "As per usual, my mum's one of their pawns. I don't want anything to do with an engagement, better yet a marriage for fuck's sake-"

Harry brings the older boy closer, wrapping his large hand around his waist, and full, pink lips brush his earlobe. "Obviously not, love. If management ever put you into a fake marriage I'd come out instead and give no shits," he tells Louis, gruff, and Niall is nodding in strong agreement; he hands back Louis' phone, staring at the article as if it was his dearest enemy, as if it was something that didn't deserve to breathe. "Yeah, mate! I'd quit the band, ya know. Nothing can break us. Fuck them all."

Louis attempts to smile despite the negative thoughts plaguing his mind, because of course, he couldn't have asked for better best friends. Louis can be petulant, insensible, and so impossible, but this failed to stop them from being a part of his blood. Five of them have gone through too much, been dragged to literal hell and back, that even abandoning one another was the single mortal sin they could commit.

Louis blinks back another set of tears.

"Thank you, Ni." He turns to Harry, caressing his soft cheek. "And thank you, Hazza."

Harry's sea-green eyes penetrate Louis' stormy gaze. It pained Harry to see the older boy slowly crumble underneath his fingers. It drove him to protect Louis, to hold him and repel every wolf, no matter what the cost.

Harry thirsts to protect the man who had protected him. And if doing so would rob his dignity in the papers and media - rob him of respectability - so be it.

"You're _not_ going to marry Eleanor, Lou. That's the last thing Modest can do, 'cause by then, I would have foiled their master plans when I come out, my contract be damned."

Harry looks so stubborn, so determined, that Louis resists snogging his admirable willpower away, and his heart swells with unimaginable pride. However, they both knew its biggest liability. 

"I'm really flattered, but you'll get sued! Sacked from the band. I can't lose you! We can't. Please, babe. Remember what happened to Rebecca. You're the frontman. Zayn, Liam, Niall and I complete the band, yeah, but you've always been the center, Harry. Don't lie to yourself. If something happened to you, we'd lose our _thing_. One Direction minus Harry Styles. Everybody will lose interest, and-" Louis cuts off, choked. He's not in the mood to continue. Harry hugs him, tight and silent, having understood each word Louis said.

Niall throws himself into a cream loveseat adjacent to Louis and Harry, swings around, and faces the pristine skyline, yet the extensive Manchester landscape wasn't enough to erase Niall's vague instincts.

The week was not over. It would progressively become worse.

And Niall, for the first time in quite a while, begins to cry.

~~

_Well, I heard you had the blues again. It seems like all those little things add up in the end. Well, I know that you worry a lot about things you can't control. There are so many things we'd like to have, but we just cannot hold._


	4. Helpless

**Where We Are Tour 2014**

Their third worldwide tour kicked off on April 25. Ticket sales sold like hotcakes and disappeared in mere seconds; One Direction had burst through the forefront of international fame as 2013 closed and were drilling themselves deeper into the entertainment industry at a rate that was unprecedented since the last boy band wave flatlined fifteen years ago. They would be a "musical act that most of this generation would not forget", Management, family, and friends said. They were a supernova star that was burning so bright, and according to Waliyha Malik, "too fast to catch up to, you lot are".

It was the norm that you simply couldn't move along your day without catching a glimpse (or a 16-page magazine article) of the five British-Irish hunks somewhere on television, radio, and social media. Everything about them were displayed, pasted, printed, written, copied for _trillions_ of eyes to see. With this groundbreaking fame came the influx of thousands more fans, more curious ears, and a ridiculous level of scrutiny.

The band was treading on eggshells constantly these days, told to be very cautious of their homosexual actions, or else step off the stage carrying an abusive warning and potential punishment for a specified number of days as retribution.

They _despised_ this, loathed their lack of freedom and opinionless abuse. Absolutely nothing could justify how vile Modest was, how they treated them like marionettes; they held a disgusting disregard for their value as human beings who possessed extraordinary jobs.

It would be a long while until they could fully take helm, as complex and sticky and discombobulated as it was to find a new management from a legal, contractual standpoint, and so the boys planned, together, a secret movement...hush-hush hunting that they hoped was vague -- invisible enough to the public yet insurmountably important without drawing considerable attention to themselves.

Harry had begun to mingle, befriending various entertainment moguls and writers and musical producers and Hollywood acquaintances who can pave a stable foundation for the band's new future outside Modest. Many connections were crucial. He ran his research over to Louis: the fair yet shrewd representative of One Direction's members. He tabulated them and sorted out names and proposed many different possibilities their business model could take, and Liam, Niall, and Zayn followed suit, reporting back to Louis with appropriate information, more connections, more 'he/she-knows-someone-who'll-help-us".

Of course, they were getting older. They were not the starry-eyed, fresh-faced _X Factor_ contestants whose young minds were filled with naïve wonder anymore. Their fans were also aging. Work on their fourth album was almost complete, and final photoshoots for the record were well underway. Following their musical passions and performing for crowds and basking in the endless exultation that electrified their whole beings to the very core didn't come for free.

The band had seen the worst, heard the worst, _felt_ the worst; they learned, long, long ago, that the world housed a sinister reality. Life was amazing, indeed, but also unforgiving, and coming home to more written media denials and fabrication and phone calls of "tomorrow's interview, Jimmy Kimmel, 6pm -- they're not allowed to ask you about Larry, just girlfriends" etc etc. never failed to leave a bitter taste of vomit in their mouths.

Harry's curly hair was growing longer, past his jawline, his broad shoulders were wider than ever, and his strong trunk extended. He had larger arms and bigger hands and additional tattoos that bathed his body like translucent jellyfish clustered together beneath the sunlight of the open ocean, and they continued to tell his story, him and Louis' story, his life as he currently knew it. He started to wear crisp suit jackets, showing off his heightened _bien_ fashion sense, and he graciously appreciated high-end Mick Jagger comparisons.

The others had become men, too. Their handsomeness, smattered with facial hair, defined bodies, sharper dress and, yes, a sea of tattoos, gained an upper focus. The media grasped onto their newfound identity as adults, no longer boys, whose delicious British accents, intelligent wit and cheek captured the attention of an older demographic that was previously too blind to give them a chance, and celebrities ranging from the A-list to television paid their respects to One Direction, acknowledging them as a capable musical group that would hopefully keep achieving milestones, winning prestigious music awards, and exercising their humility (in which they always followed through).

Their eyes were wary, seasoned, reflecting their status as four-year veterans of the toxic entertainment industry, and yet they were still in the midst of a war, a battle of power and justice that drained them numerous times but was never able to quench their faith; their support network was vast and infinite, replenishing their energy on days where the bullshit was too much like shrapnel to the chest that they just couldn't properly handle the aftermath, and they drew their strength out of everyone who offered love to them.

One such battlefront occurred before the premiere of their hit feature documentary movie, _This Is Us 3D_ , during August of the year before. Louis had blasted the title off, laughing sourly at its utterly ironic insinuation, and little did they know that another unwanted bomb was about to drop, except this time, it would rock One Direction on an unimaginable scale. It would be as horrendous as a magnitude 9.0 earthquake, because Modest _actually_ considered it, went through with it, and spat acid on everything they fought for.

Liam hadn't predicted Zayn's engagement to Perrie.

None of them saw it coming.

A formal confirmation of the arrangement was revealed during a series of important radio interviews for the day that coincided with the premiere, building up PR for the band drastically and effectively. Worse, all five of the boys had already been split apart and taken for interviewing when the news broke the dam.

It was after Liam, Zayn and Louis' segment that they were approached by a Modest employee mid-break. Hair fixed into a bun and a detached, blasé expression on her face, she clicked her pen, asking to speak to Zayn in private, and Liam had backed away immediately, an irate, foreboding sense of terror wringing his insides.

Louis caught him, hands gripping Liam tight, reassuring and comforting and conveying solace, and Zayn looks back at his boyfriend once, lovely burnt sienna eyes telling him, although anguished, to stay strong. _For the band. For both of us._

"O-oh my god," Liam exhales, breathless, and he feels as if his lungs were scorched embers; his fingers scrabble at his veined throat, struggling for purchase, to feel some pain that he desperately hoped was non-existent, hoping this was only a disastrous nightmare, but Louis' presence is real and palpable as he crushes Liam's fists in his own.

"Fuck, I think it's _Perrie_ \--" Liam says hoarsely, trembling, yet Louis drags him to the sitting room, devoid of other nosy employees who might witness his mate's anxious breakdown, and Louis is moved to tears, seeing him in this repulsive situation. It's breaking Liam's will, unraveling the weakest pieces of him right before his very eyes as they tumble like dominoes, and a surge of fury fills Louis' heart for a few dark moments, wishing death upon Richard fucking Griffiths and Harry fucking Magee, because how dare they shatter their self-reservations, their dreams, their _love_ , in one loathsome snap of fat fingers.

Louis holds Liam close, rocking him gently as he drops his head in his hands, and Liam's breathing is erratic now, his broad chest rising up and down, reminiscent of a sand dune.

When Harry and Niall's break arrives they burst into the room, unspoken tears streaking their faces, and Louis grits his teeth at their cautious approach.

"Liam, Liam...," Louis coos, softly, and Harry sits on his opposite side, Niall occupying the front chair and touching Liam's knees, his snowy knuckles red from how tight he's gripping them.

Niall opens his mouth. "A fake engageme--"

"B-bloody hell, why would they _do_ this?! Why a fucking wedding thing?!" Liam's tone is shivering with coiled anger, despair, misery, and the other three attempt in desperation to advise him that there was a silver lining to everything, that this wasn't permanent, that they were going to leave Modest in the damn dirty dust as soon as they could. They reminded Liam that him and Zayn can withstand the storm--like they've done many times before--but previous PR ' _didn't include a fucking engagement_ ,' Liam retorts, blinking away hot, insulted tears, and he says he wasn't ready for something as monumental as this, that Modest was low enough to execute an insensitive asspull stunt.

"This is a fucking _attack_ on our relationship. They didn't even fucking ask Harry to marry Taylor or ask Lou to confirm his fake engagement to Eleanor it just faded away and then _they stir this shit up expecting me to comply but of fucking course not and they didn't even think to tell me sooner and yeah I see this shit happen everyday in Hollywood but I never assumed it would happen to_ us _and they can't fucking make Zayn_ marry Perrie motherfucking Edwards--"

Liam's continuous, pauseless litany of wretched cursing breaks their hearts right down the middle.

They cry alongside him, mourning over the splintered state of their best friend, their bandmate. Harry presses his forehead to Liam's, whispers "you and Zayn are worth it," and when Zayn appears, they discover that his beautiful eyes are glistening, are bloodshot red, and Liam loses his bearings completely.

Zayn is in Liam's arms before they realize that he had moved, pushing Harry aside. He says nothing as he encircles Liam, kissing his shoulders, his palms, his lids, his entire face, and a rivulet of tears splatter from Zayn's cheekbones onto Liam's skin. The dark-haired man's full lips are twisted, mirroring the deepest depths of grief that Louis has ever seen, and the boys give Zayn and Liam space, allowing them to revel within a circle of protection. It is the only thing they can offer for now; their ears weep at the sound of their helpless sobs, at _'I'm sorry, Liam'_ and _'I love you I love you I love you so much'_ , and Louis spares a pained glance towards Harry, who hugs him back, wishing that this black day ended as soon as it started, and Niall knew this was another unforgettable scar, another poisonous flesh wound, that would make them stronger mentally, emotionally, and physically, because they had each other.

But this still wasn't the end.

It was affecting them all, and there was a line that, once crossed, would render them unable to step back. That line was coming, for better or for worse, and Harry felt that whatever it was, they could defy.

~~

_And I know, and you know too, that a love like ours is terrible news. But that won't stop me crying. No, that won't stop me crying over you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being so patient! Busy uni life kills my creativity, but thank _god_ I'm finally on Christmas break~
> 
> Song blurb in this chapter: 'Thieves' by She & Him. I hope I can get another chapter posted before New Year's.
> 
> OH, and to shoo away the sadness in this chapter, Merry Christmas! Vancouver never gets snow ;-; *•*•*•*•*


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